Blood is What it Takes to Break Down Walls

I decided to try a new style of poetry today.  I’ve been reading a lot more contemporary poetry recently–I even went to the bookstore to pick out a couple more books by newer published poets.

And needless to say, those beautiful minds inspired me to try something new.  (It’s hardly anything extreme.  Probably more mild when compared to some of the other experimental stuff I tried in my attempt to express my grief over my cousin.)

Anyways, the only change is putting the title at the end.  That’s it.

I thought it was cool–it makes it look like the poem is being signed like a letter, instead of titled.  🙂

I’m not going to lie–I wrote this while watching t.v.  (Don’t be mad.  I still take work very seriously.  It’s just … sometimes you need to binge a little Netflix, you know?)

Well … here’s my attempt.  I tried to take a darker spin on the three little pigs fairy tale, but that’s not exactly how it ended up.  It’s more like a loose version of something adapted from the end of a game of telephone that someone purposely messed up along the way.



there are holes in the walls of my
house. plaster cracks, chips a w a y like
the flaking wall next to the stoner’s
desk in the back of the classroom,
falling away at the hands of
untended nails, out of boredom
more than the intention to d e s t r o y
but the result is the same every damn time

rough cracks and deepened edges
floorboards creak and walls groan
my nails are bloody and I’ve left handprints on the plaster
picking is not the same as fixing

my house is made of holes and bricks held
together by plaster chunks
that are no longer there—holes
grew and was replaced themselves with my blood

through the holes surrounded by plaster,
I can see glowing eyes wanting in
A       W O L F
trying to knock down my walls

b y
s h e e r
f o r c e
o f
v   o   i   c   e

I watch the plaster crack
further damaged from the strain.
walls shake in the wake of someone
else’s anger manifested

tears sting my cheeks and I can’t help but wonder
as I shake alongside the failing plaster
can this brick house of holes still
stand against the
breath of the wolf?

–Blood is What it Takes to Break Down Walls



I hope that this poem meant something to you.  Anything at all,  Even if you simply use it as a reminder to redo your kitchen walls or something.

Let me know what you think about the whole “title at the end” thing that appears to be all the rage right now.  I’d like to know how others out there interpret it.

Thank you for reading!

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